


blow what's left of my right mind

by orphan_account



Category: Tanz der Vampire - Steinman/Kunze
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, i tried and therefore no one should judge me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-13 13:35:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1228333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred never really expected vampires to be sleeping under Paris. Alfred feels very stupid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I AM SO SORRY

    The things Alfred was willing to do to maintain a scholarship were truly awe-inspiring and terrifying, especially for him. His life goal had never been “follow insane professor around Europe hunting mythical creatures,” and yet here he was. Life was funny like that.  
  
    There were two things to be said in favor of Abronsius’ eccentricities, however-- the sights and Sarah. Whatever anyone said about the professor’s mental status (and there was much to be said), the man was a genius. It’s why the University hired him and why they had yet to fire him. Even though he was dragging Alfred across the globe chasing down a rumor about _the undead_ of all things, he made sure to stop by plenty of history’s beauty marks. Alfred had actually cried when they visited the pyramids.  
  
    Sarah had been an unexpected addition to the expedition. They’d picked her up towards the beginning of their trip when she’d been hitchhiking in Germany with the intent to drop her off at the nearest motel, which lasted all of five minutes before she told the duo her hometown was fairly famous among occultists because of an urban myth that a vampire had lived in the castle overlooking the town and she had been obsessed with trying to find him as a child. Between the professor’s need for new information and Alfred’s falling in love at first sight, she had ended up sticking around.  
      
    (He had, of course, asked her about her parents and whether or not they knew where she was. In reply, she had tilted her chin up sharply and said that she was nineteen now and didn’t need her parent’s say-so for anything. “Besides,” she added, “I’d be surprised if they even noticed I was gone over all the yelling. Dad is quite the wannabe Casanova. It doesn’t work because he’s hairy and fat and drunk but he tries and it drives Mom mad. He still goes on about this girl-- Magda, I think-- who he was infatuated with in the eighties. She went missing; he was actually interrogated to make sure he didn’t kill her and dump her body in the river. Still talks about how she had 'hair as red as a sunset on the Sahara,’ not that he’s ever been to the Sahara, mind you.”)  
  
    Seven months later, she was still with them, trudging through the catacombs of Paris on the slim chance they might hold the undead.  
  
    “l'Ossuaire Municipal,” Sarah said, her pronunciation perfect. Alfred was a tad jealous-- his reading comprehension outpaced hers but she was far better at actually speaking in foreign languages. “Classy. If you’re going to hibernate anywhere, might as well be somewhere with style.”  
  
    Alfred wouldn’t necessarily describe the underground network as “classy,” per se, but he was following an aging madman throughout a massive crypt to try and track down a vampire lord who hibernated for years--occasionally decades-- popped up, threw a giant party where they turned people into vampires and then either went back to sleep or fucked around for a few years first. So you know. Who was he to judge.  
  
    “Are you positive we’re allowed to be down here?” Alfred asked the professor. He had a sinking suspicion he knew the answer already but was content enough to live in denial until forced to do otherwise.  
  
    “I have yet to hear otherwise,” the professor answered in what he probably thought was a comforting tone.  
  
    “Did you _ask_?” Alfred asked.  
      
    That, he didn’t get an answer to.  
  
    Maybe if they got caught, he could plead ignorance. Or that traveling with the professor caused severe mental strain. Which was silly, he told himself, because they weren’t going to get caught. It was getting cold and was only colder underground, so the chances of anyone wanted a cool place to hang out were slim, and they hadn’t seen any guards, so--  
  
    “Hello,” a voice from behind them said. “Are you lost?”  
  
    The trio spun around.  
  
    The girl who had been behind them gave the impression of being tall, probably because of her wild curls that looked brown until she stepped into range of their flashlight and proved to be an almost neon redhead. She really wasn’t dressed for the weather, Alfred noted, as she appeared to be wearing a sundress and boots. Not a very concealing sundress either.  
  
    Not that he was staring.  
  
    The probably-not-a-ghost smiled. Her teeth were bright and white. It was terrifying. “So,” she drawled, twisting a curl around her finger, “what brings you here on this lovely night?”  
  
    “Oh, you know,” Sarah answered faintly, “stuff.” As eloquent as her reply wasn’t, it was still more than Alfred was managing.  
  
    “Young lady, do you come down here often?” Abronsius suddenly asked. He was apparently no longer startled by her sudden appearance and was loud in the silence of the tunnels. Alfred jumped.  
  
    “Oh, every night,” she answered, which was absolutely not helping Alfred’s nerves. _Probably_ not a ghost, but still potentially a serial killer.  
  
    “Tell me, have you seen any suspicious activity as of late? More mysterious disappearances than usual? Bats? Soil scattered in odd places down here?”  
  
    “Professor, maybe we should stop bothering the nice lady and--”  
  
    “ _Actually_ ,” the girl cut him off, “now that you mention it, there are an awful lot of bats roosting a few tunnels down. It’s a little past the actual catacombs and in the mines so people don’t go there often, which is a shame,” she leaned in conspiratorially, “because if you know where to look, there’s an actual crypt built in. I’ve been inside it-- it’s really cool. There’s these two huge coffins. I guess whoever it was was really important.”  
  
    “Do you,” the professor started. He looked so exited Alfred was a little worried he might hurt himself, “do you think you could take us there?”  
  
    Alfred and Sarah exchanged a look.  
  
    “Of course,” the almost-definitely-a-serial-killer replied sweetly.  
  
    She turned on her heel and began to briskly walk away.  
  
    “See boy?” the professor said as he hurried after her. “Progress. And you wanted us to ignore her. Feh!”  
  
    Soon he had caught up with the redhead  to question her about how well she knew the catacombs’ history.  
  
    “So you agree this is a terrible idea, right?” Alfred asked Sarah.  
  
    “Maybe it’ll turn out well anyways. Like when Ukraine kept their statues clean by getting the pigeons wasted. Or that time you accidentally put chocolate sauce on potato chips.”  
  
    “You cannot seriously be okay with the fact that this is happening.”  
  
    Sarah shrugged and started jogging towards the professor and their unlikely guide.  
  
    “Do you realize how dangerous this is?” he hissed at her.  
  
    “I’ll protect you,” she called over her shoulder.  
  
    With no other choice, Alfred muttered a quick prayer to the tune of _please God let me get out of here alive_ and ran after them.  
  
    As it turned out, the crypt wasn’t all that far away. The professor was midway through a monologue about Les Innocents when the girl said, “oh, here it is” and ducked into what turned out to be a low doorway that lead down a flight of stairs. Alfred sure was glad nothing bad ever happened to people who followed complete strangers down dark staircases in underground mass graves.  
  
    True to her word, the stairs opened into a massive room with two large stone... well, “sarcophagi” was probably the best word for them. There was writing on the walls but it was too worn for Alfred to read in the dim light.  
  
    “Why this... this is fantastic, I wonder if anyone even knows...” Abronsius’ eyes were glazed over and he looked a little like he might start to cry. “Thank you, miss...”  
  
    “Magda,” she supplied as she strode forward t stand between the two coffins. “My name is Magda.”  
  
    Alfred had just enough time for his stomach to turn to ice before Magda tapped out a-shave-and-a-haircut on both coffins and called, “company!”  
  
    The second the coffin lids began to slide as though something on the inside was trying to get out Alfred grabbed the professor’s arm and dragged him back up the stairs only to realize that Sarah _wasn’t following them_.  
  
    “Keep going,” Alfred told the professor, aware that his voice was probably hysterical. The professor started to protest-- protest running away from the murderous undead, why was this Alfred’s _life_?-- but Alfred wasn’t paying attention. He took a deep breath and did the stupidest thing he had ever done and ran back at the apparently real bloodthirsty creatures who most likely thought they were very lucky to have three tasty snacks just stumble into them.  
  
 _The things I do for you, Sarah_.  
  
    When he got back down to the crypt, Sarah was staring a gaunt man sitting in one of the coffins who was gazing back at her. There was someone in the other one as well and they made a high pitched noise when Alfred burst back into the room but Alfred was here to get Sarah and get out and nothing else.  
  
    “You’re _real_ ,” Sarah breathed out, still apparently enraptured with the figure in the coffin who, still staring at her, began to rise.  
    Alfred’s train of thought as he grabbed Sarah and ran back up the stairs was mostly just the words “nope” and “fuck” repeated several hundred times.  
    The professor had not, apparently, taken Alfred’s advice and was still hovering at the top of the stairs. Alfred took a moment to wonder how, exactly, he had managed to be the only sane person in this group and if the wounded noise Sarah made was any indication it hadn’t been just to himself.  
  
    “My boy, you must realize, this is everything we’ve been working towards--” the professor began.  
  
    “I think we should comeback when they’re asleep, then!” Alfred discovered that trying to push two people down a dark tunnel two did not want to be pushed was easier said than done.  
  
    “Come on, Alfred, what’s the worst that could--” Sarah began.  
  
    “Please don’t finish that sentence,” Alfred begged. “Please, for the love of God, don’t finish that sentence.”  
  
    “I don’t think God has much to do with anything these day,” a low voice drawled.  
  
 _Twice_ , Alfred thought to himself, _twice in one day. Maybe one day the deadly monster will knock on the door and introduce itself instead of appearing randomly behind me._  
  
    Slowly he turned around.  
  
    The man who had been staring at Sarah in the crypt was, unsurprisingly, staring at her now. Magda was smirking at all three of them. But perhaps most terrifying was the man standing to the left of them. He was tall and broad-shouldered in a loose white shirt and what appeared to be leather pants. Despite the fact that his hair was grey and white and so sleek the flashlight beam seemed to bounce off of it, he appeared to be a young man around Alfred’s age.  
  
    And he was smiling a huge toothy grin right at Alfred.  
  
    Alfred wanted to hide behind Sarah. He wanted Sarah to be hiding behind him. He wanted to not be here.  
  
    “Well, then,” the older (probably) of the men said with a smile, “why don’t you tell us what you were looking for at this hour?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry

Herbert was trying to decide how he felt. At it's most basic form, it was happiness, but "happiness" was insufficient a word. It wasn't quite as frenzied as "ecstatic," was bubblier than "lighthearted," and "jolly" conjured images of getting red-faced and drunk at his father's parties.

Ah. He had it.

Herbert was elated.

He was absolutely, positively elated. He had known when Magda had woken them that there was a snack waiting for them, which was good news on its own, but until the boy had run back into the crypt for his friend that the treat would be quite so... toothsome. But oh, this boy was _mouthwatering_.

He was pretty, so pretty, though he carried himself as though he had no idea, which was silly. Surely Herbert couldn't be the first one to notice those eyes, those eyelashes, that mouth. It would be like The Birth of Venus rotting away in some moldy cellar. The point of art is to be seen and admired, and this boy was a masterpiece.

Herbert resisted the urge to run a hand over his hair. Magda had assured him that he looked fine, but he still wasn't sure what her scale for "fine" was. Fine for him, or fine for someone who had been in a crypt for several years? First impressions were important. While the girl and the old man seemed to be quite pleased with finding them, the boy—Alfred, his name was Alfred, and wasn't that adorable?— was still wary of them. Of course he was, he looked so very clever, not at all like his silly companions. It didn't matter horribly. With time, he would come around.

And oh, he had time. He had time because Father, beautiful wonderful Father, had convinced the silly ones to stay with them. Herbert was under no illusion that he had done it solely for him, not with the way he looked at the doe-eyed girl like she was made of starlight, but it didn't matter. Between the old professor's poorly hidden desire to know more about them and the girl apparently reciprocating his father's regard, the trio was now trailing after them as they moved out of the gloomy tunnels.

Herbert trailed behind everyone else, partially so he could keep an eye out for trouble and partially because, well, Alfred's eyes weren't the only especially nice bits of him. As they emerged into the Paris night air, Herbert was suddenly struck by worry that the smell of the grave was clinging to him. He had been underground for so long (seven years, apparently) that he couldn't tell. What if they smelled like death and mold and rot? While in the catacombs, no one would be able to tell but now that they were surrounded by fresh air it was different. Magda hadn't been asleep with, she'd know. He looked around for her, but all he saw was... Sarah, wasn't it? Yes. All he saw was Sarah attempting to speak with his father, the professor taking over her, and Alfred flitting adorably around as though he thought Father would bite them all then and there.

As soon as Father noticed his confused look, he said, "She went to go get a car."

Suddenly, the others were looking at him. Suddenly, _Alfred_ was looking at him.

Herbert gave a coy smile. "Ah. Thank you. Paris is such a beautiful sight, seeing it again after so long does not lend itself well to one's ability to focus on anything else." He hoped he sounded ethereal and mysterious. He hoped Alfred liked that in a man.

His father fell prey again to the professor's chatter and Herbert refrained from attempting to steal Alfred's attention. There would be time later, when he might be more receptive.

It was all, Herbert mused, a bit like _Paradise Lost_. The fall of God's most beautiful angel, spurred by nothing but inevitability. When given the freedom to fall and an eternity in which to do so, it was a surety. And Herbert certainly planned to give Alfred an eternity.

Soon enough, Magda pulled up in a sleek black car. Father, no doubt attempting to escape the professor's machine-gun questioning, pulled himself into the front passenger seat. The rear of the car consisted of two seats directly behind the driver and passenger seat, and behind that were three connected seats. The professor, who was seemingly incapable of telling when his presence was unwanted, took his seat directly behind Father. Herbert should have been put out in his behalf if not for Alfred pushing Sarah over the professor and into the seat behind Magda before tossing himself resolutely in the seat behind her, which meant it was him and Alfred, together, in the back seat. Herbert had many fond memories of pretty boys in back seats (although his father wasn't present for any of them).

He didn't fold himself into the middle seat, because who ever sits in the middle seat when they don't have to? His position in the seat opposite Alfred, however, did lend itself to being able to admire the boy freely. The Paris streets were far better lit than their underground equivalents and every so often a sign or lamp would send a burst of light into the car, illuminating Alfred perfectly. He was even nicer to look at now that they were out of the cloying shadows of the catacombs. Though his hair covered part of his face, Herbert could easily make out his high cheekbones and clear skin with the occasional beauty mark. And his eyes— Herbert had never seen anything quite so lovely. The boy obviously thought that the turtleneck he wore would be enough to avert the attentions of the undead. Oh, but he would learn. Herbert would teach him.

The beast inside Herbert was purring and licking its teeth, content in certainty that a feast was soon to appear.

Herbert would say that the car ride— and therefore his chance to, ah, _observe_ the boy— ended all to soon, but really, he was glad to see their estate looming up ahead. The ride to their home, which not actually been built inside Paris itself to escape the urban sprawl, had taken long enough and Herbert didn't want to have just woken up to be sitting down all night. Besides, their guests appeared to be battling sleep and it would reflect poorly on them to deny them comfort.

Koukol was waiting at the front door when they arrived. Not perhaps the most welcoming sight, but all the same a familiar one.

"Koukol," Father said, "will show you inside. We will see about fetching your luggage and then about arranging your rooms."

"Oh, the hotel's still holding it, the room wasn't ready yet but we were eager to explore," the professor answered distractedly, Koukol's presence dragging his attention away from the Count for the first time since they'd showed up in the crypt. The ugly little thing did have its uses, Herbert supposed.

As soon as the door shut behind their guests, Herbert and his father looked at each other. Herbert's grin was wide and toothy, whereas Father's glee was invisible to the untrained eye but still present. Magda rolled her eyes, clearly trying to appear more annoyed than she actually was.

"Ugh. I'm going inside. Feel free to join me when you think you can handle yourselves around your new pets." She flounced up the steps and disappeared into the house.

Herbert's grin grew even bigger, even though the corners of his mouth were beginning to hurt. Magda was wrong, wrong, wrong. He knew exactly what Alfred would be once he left behind all those _charming_ inhibitions: not a pet, not prey, but a _mate_.


	3. Chapter 3

Alfred wanted to go to sleep. Alfred really, really wanted to go to sleep. The problem was, Alfred didn’t want to go to sleep in the admittedly very lovely home of a centuries old vampire and his... whatever the others were. They’d been told that the other male vampire, Herbert, was the Count’s son, but for all Alfred knew “son” was code for something very different for vampires. And he still didn’t know how Magda fit into all this. It really didn’t matter because all Alfred wanted to do was hop on the next plane to the Vatican, dragging the professor and Sarah kicking and screaming if need be. Instead, they were going on a tour. The Count and Herbert had offered while Magda rolled her eyes and muttered something about pants under her breath before leaving to see about having their luggage brought up. Abronsius had eagerly taken them up on it, leaving Alfred no time to make the very good excuse that they were all too tired. So there they were, sleep deprived and following two vampires who had just woken up around a very large, very unfamiliar house because the professor had, apparently, literally no sense of self-preservation.

 _If this were a horror movie_ , Alfred thought angrily at the back of the professor’s head, _you would be the character everyone boos and throws popcorn at the screen for because they get everyone else killed by doing the stupidest thing possible. You’re the one that goes into the cellar alone and asks “who’s there?” when they hear something moving around. You pick up the phone when the the call says it’s coming from inside the house._

There probably would have been more, except the next thing out of the Count’s mouth was, “and this is the library.”

And it was, indeed, a library.

It was the sort of library Alfred, as a small boy in a small town, had longed for. It was gorgeous, with towering shelves and ornate, heavy tables and a massive globe in one corner. Most importantly, it had books. They were everywhere-- on the shelves, off the shelves, crammed on top of other books, stacked on tables. Alfred stood slightly agape, feeling rather light-headed and a bit scared to blink.

“Kindles actually came out a few months before we... retired. We have a few simply to save space, but as you can see we amassed quite a collection before that.”

“Alfred?” Sarah sounded far too amused for anyone’s good. “Do you need a minute?”

He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t. He didn’t care that he was pretty sure that was a first edition of The Hobbit.

“I’m fine,” he managed.

“You know,” Herbert began casually, looking at one of the shelves and twisting a piece of his hair around his finger, “I’ve been meaning to get this straightened out forever. Not tonight, of course, but if you’re planning to stay for a while, perhaps you could help me? I could use an extra pair of hands.”

Alfred didn’t think the request was all that funny. It was actually both appealing and terrifying. He really had no idea why Sarah looked like she was desperately trying to smother laughter. Alfred shrugged helplessly, not knowing what to say.

There was a brief pause.

“Right,” the Count said drily, his eyebrow maybe half a centimeter higher than it had been. “Herbert, it’s always lovely to see you showing such initiative in housework. Would the rest of you like to retrieve your luggage now or when you wake up? Magda has returned.”

As they headed towards their luggage, Alfred tried to remember if he had anything sharp or poisonous in his bag. Sarah probably did. Maybe she would let him borrow whatever it was? Probably not.

Alfred and Sarah were not light packers for very different reasons. Alfred didn’t bring much by the way of clothing but usually loaded down his bag with books and pens and notepads. Sarah, on the other hand, had been forever banned from buying anything other than basic necessities without supervision because apparently, left to her own devices she would buy _all the bathing products._ Alfred wasn’t sure how she fit anything in her bag around her fifty billion exfoliants but that was her problem. The real issue is that Alfred wasn’t sure if he could run and carry the bag. He was startled from this train of thought when someone cleared his their throat next to him.

“Hello!” Herbert’s voice was low but surprisingly peppy. Alfred looked up a bit frantically, but Sarah and the professor were both engaged in conversation with the Count.

“Hi?” he responded.

“I was wondering about the books.” When Alfred didn’t say anything, Herbert went on. “I just realized I never got an answer. Would you be willing to help me with the library?”

Alfred was torn. On one hand, books. On the other, possible painful death followed by an eternity of soulless devotion to bloodlust and chaos.

But... books.

“Sure,” he said, trying to sound like he wasn’t completely terrified. “We could start tomorrow, I guess? Or would that be tomorrow night?”

Herbert’s smile looked so genuine Alfred was momentarily taken aback. “We have blackout curtains, so we can start whenever you’re ready. Thank you. I needed an extra pair of hands, and it’ll be a pleasure to use yours.”

Alfred felt like he shouldn’t ask for clarification. Luckily, the’d made their way back to the atrium where Magda was standing with their luggage.

Alfred hefted his backpack up over his shoulder and clutched the strap tightly.

“Your rooms will be on the same floor as the library, if you go down that hallway and to the left it’s the second door on the right. Koukol should have it ready by now. Of course,” Herbert added with a devious smile, “if the room isn’t up to your standards, you’re more than welcome in mine.”

It took Alfred an embarrassingly long time to add up that to the smiles and the looks and get…

…oh.

“Oh,” said Alfred. Maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to help with the library.

Sarah was either doing a terrible job of hiding her laughter or choking to death, and Alfred wasn’t nearly lucky enough for it to be the latter. Had Herbert taken leave from his senses and forgotten they weren’t alone in the room, with the people present including his father?

“Has something happened?” Just when Alfred thought this wasn’t going to get any more uncomfortable, Abronsius resurfaced from his conversation with the Count. Alfred stood there with his mouth open, trying and failing to say something to shift the attention away from himself. Sarah seemed to be having no such problems.

“Oh, it’s nothing, he’s just figured out that Herbert want to…” Alfred knew and resented the gleam in Sarah’s eyes. “…tune his piano.”

“My piano doesn’t need tuning!” Alfred insisted, eyes still wide and voice perhaps a tad too high.

“Really? Because it seemed to me that it’s gone a bit flat as of late. Could use someone to tighten your strings.”

“I really don’t,” Alfred protested weakly.

“Hmph.” The professor turned back to the Count. “I wasn’t aware you played.’

“He doesn’t,” Sarah said. “That’s the problem.”

“I believe I can find the room on my own, thank you, good night!” Alfred was enough of a man to admit that what he was doing was absolutely running away like a small child.

He felt he was justified.


End file.
